Harry: You shifted uncomfortably, slowly opening your eyes to the sanitary-white walls of the hospital waiting room. Raising yourself from your chair, you walk back down the hall to the second last room on the right, stopping just at the window to glance into the hospital room once again. “Mummy!” you hear just as you creak open the door, your little boy perched on Harry’s legs, a smile that matches Harrys plastered to his lips. You smile; the colour is back in Harry’s cheeks and his eyes are shiny. Sitting beside him, you wrap your hands around one of his, turning to your son and nodding towards his toy stethoscope. “So, Doc, what’s he got?” Your son perks up and climbs closer to the two of you, placing the plastic against his father’s chest. “Uhm, Dad- I mean my patient says it’s Asmar, but-” “Asthma, bud,” Harry adds. “Yeah, but,” your son says, leaning forward and whispering in your ear, “I think he ran too fast playing football with me, Mummy. I’m too fast for him.” Flickering your eyes back to Harry’s, you nod, smirking as you whisper back, “I think so too.”
Liam: Your eyelids flutter and he swears that his heart stops a beat. He’s still in shock, he thinks. His mind is still reeling, the image of you curled up on a gurney clutching an oxygen mask fresh in his mind. Instantly, you start pulling at the cords and tubes wrapped around you, tugging the cannula away from your nose, moaning Liam’s name. He jumps up instantly, perching beside your bed and grabbing your hands, wrapping his fingers around your wrists. “Love, calm down,” he commands softly, rubbing at the thin skin of your wrists, his thumbs soothing and calloused against your pulse. “You’re alright. I’m here. Everything’s fine.” You look around the room with misty eyes, more confused than you’ve ever been. It’s hard to breathe, still, but you try to focus on the soft swoop of Liam’s fingers around your wrist, the steady back and forth motion that lulls you into a sense of serenity. “What happened?” you ask, your voice thick. He gives you a tiny smile. “Doctors don’t know yet, love. But whatever happens, you’re gonna be okay, alright? You’re gonna be just fine.”
Louis: Before your eyes even open, you can feel his hand in yours, fingers loose against your knuckles. You flick your eyes open slowly and grin at the sight before you. Louis is sat in the chair beside your bed, glasses sitting on his nose, engrossed in your copy of The Fault in Our Stars. You giggle and squeeze his hand lightly. “Hey there, bookworm,” you say quietly, and his eyes slide to yours, a grin tugging at his lips. “Hello, beautiful,” he replies, setting the book down and leaning closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “How’s my best girl feeling?” You look down towards your toes, at the white cast that Louis and the boys have covered in doodles, lyrics and smiley faces. “Sore,” you admit, wiggling your toes slightly. “D’you like the book?” “It’s sad,” he mutters, moving from the chair to the bed, setting himself up against the headboard so you can lean against his chest. You settle back against him, twisting your fingers in the collar of his t-shirt. “Thank you,” you mumble into his chest, “for being here. S’nice not being alone.” “Of course, love,” he replies, kissing your forehead.
Niall: You wake up slowly, to the sound of his soft singing voice, the beautiful sound echoing through the tiny hospital room. You’re glad you got a private room, because this Niall, this singing, I’m-a-brand-new-daddy Niall is something you want to keep to yourself. When you open your eyes, you see him standing by the window, rocking your new baby boy gently in his arms. “For some reason I can’t explain, once you go there was never, never an honest word, and that was when I ruled the world.” You smile. “Coldplay?” He turns and looks at you, handsome grin on his face. “Tink he’ll like it?” he asks and you giggle. “If he’s anything like his daddy, he’ll love it.” He walks back over to you, and your son coos when he sits beside you on the bed. “Ya, das yer mumma, lil guy.” The coo turns to a cry and Niall’s eyebrows shoot up. “I tink he wants ya, luv.” He hands your newborn over to you and you settle him against your chest, stroking your hand along his tiny back. “Look at dat,” Niall whispers when he stops crying, reaching out to grab your hand. “My beautiful, talented girl.”
Zayn: The light that’s coming in through the window hits your eyes as the nurse cracks the blinds open and you groan, rolling over and trying to grab back onto sleep. It slips away, of course, just as the nurse slips out the door. You bury your face in the pillow, shutting your eyes, curling in on yourself a bit. “Got me too, if it makes you feel better,” a voice says and you open one eye to see the most handsome boy you’ve ever seen looking over at you from the bed beside you. His caramel-honey eyes are trained on yours and if you could shrink into your hospital bed and disappear, you think you probably would. “My name’s Zayn,” he says, reaching out a hand. His bed is close enough to yours that you can reach out and touch his fingers, and you do, your fingertips just grazing his palm. You whisper you name and he grins. “Pretty. What’re you in for?” You shrug. “Had my appendix out. You?” He raises a casted arm. “Fell off my board.” “Smooth,” you giggle. “Say, when we get out of here, would you fancy getting a cup of coffee with me? Maybe a movie?” You grin. “I’d like that.”
